


Infidel to Die For

by FrostedFox



Series: Grow Up and Blow Away [1]
Category: Thor (2011), Thor (Comics)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:28:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostedFox/pseuds/FrostedFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Adherence had always been Sigyn’s covert curse, though she has only ever counted it as a blessing - hidden behind names more flowery, more sanguine, so that the true flaws are hidden: Loyal; believer; supporter. Never servant; underling; slave."</p><p>An arranged marriage, a host of celebrations - both public and private - and a murder. Sigyn is caught in the midst of something larger than she can fathom. Loki intends for it to remain that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> A story in two parts with a brief interlude.

Adherence had always been Sigyn’s covert curse, though she has only ever counted it as a blessing - hidden behind names more flowery, more sanguine, so that the true flaws are hidden:  _Loyal_ ;  _believer_ ;  _supporter_ . Never  _servant; underling; slave_ .

She takes in the news of her mother’s death the same way she takes in a request for more biscuits to be brought to the table; with quiet acceptance. 

Likewise, she takes in the news of her arranged marriage the same way she  takes in the news of her mother’s death.  _Loyalty_ demands it. 

Though under the surface her mind races. 

-

She is told of her fate before he is. 

Sigyn realizes it when she finds Loki in the library, sitting in a corner with a large book open in his lap. He is lost in the words and images that lie before him - lost in his own world. Surely someone who has just been told of his own arranged marriage shouldn’t be capable of simply reading. 

Or maybe it just shows how little he cares. 

Sigyn hides behind a bookshelf, glancing out towards her husband-to-be every few minutes in an effort to calm herself. It isn’t working. 

She is fourteen, after all. Romantic relationships hold little interest for her - especially not when it comes to the sixteen-year-old prince of Asgard. 

She takes a deep breath and peers out towards the young prince one final time. It isn’t that he’s unattractive - though thin and pale by Asgardian standards - it’s more that this fate is being forced upon her. She has no choice in this matter; she never will.

But to be a princess of Asgard, she thinks, is something brilliant and honorable - or so her mother had told her so many times before her death. Sigyn’s mother, too, had once been engaged to a prince; he had died in battle before she had even been given the chance to wed. 

It had been the death of her mother - a noblewoman in the court of Asgard - that led Sigyn down this path of arranged marriage. She is young and alone and of noble birth,  _‘why waste this gift of a child?’_

Looking out at Loki now, Sigyn realizes that the threat of battle isn’t something she would likely lose her future-husband to. He shies away from it when he can. Besides, Prince Thor is always looking out for him. Everyone in the kingdom knows of the protective love Thor feels for his younger brother. 

Sigyn draws another breath before turning to leave. Theoric must be wondering where she is by now. She wonders if she should tell him the news, or let their friendship carry on in blissful ignorance for as long as she can. But when she finds him sitting under their usual tree - a vast weeping willow on the outskirts of the palace - eating apples from the marketplace and grinning up at her, she realizes that she could never keep anything from him. 

Sigyn has never been a fine liar, and an even worse one when it came to her best friend. 

The young boy stands quickly and bows before Sigyn - a mockery of the customs of the court - as he finishes the last of his apple. She responds with her best curtsy and puts all of her energy into not letting her smile falter. Theoric reaches his hand out towards her, inviting her to dance. As has become the custom for the two, Sigyn takes it and allows herself to be swept up into a twirl of motion; her feet moving as Theoric wishes them to. They used to fall into each other, but have since become gifted dancers, or at least more aware of the each other’s presence. 

After a few moments of laughter and dancing, the two slump back against the tree. Sigyn lifts the hem of her dress to inspect for stains and dirt. Theoric watches the sky, always looking for adventure. Moving around the tree to stand closer to him, Sigyn nudges Theoric’s shoulder. 

“I have to talk to you,” she says. Theoric becomes instantly serious at her tone. He watches her intently and waits for her to continue. “I am to be married,” she says finally. A weight is removed from her shoulders. Sigyn absently wonders where it has gone.

“When?” Theoric knew this was coming eventually, but the pain is evident in the break of his voice. 

“I have a year, maybe two. Do you not wish to know who my husband will be?”

Theoric does not want to know. He intensely does not want to know. He can’t think of anything he would like to know less. “Sure,” he says.

“Loki.”

“The prince Loki? Son of Odin?”

“It is the truth,” she says, and then slides down the tree to sit on the grass. The cleanliness of her gown completely disregarded. “I have no choice.”

“That cannot be,” Theoric says. “This cannot be. This is hardly fair. You must have a choice, you must!” He hits the tree in frustration, then looks at Sigyn, buried in her skirts on the grass. “I shall not let them.”

“Theoric.”

“Sigyn.”

“Don’t do this.”

Theoric sits beside her then, at a loss for words; for time; for anything. He feels trapped into this, but it is not he who is being forced to wed the prince of Asgard. It is Sigyn; sweet, innocent Sigyn, and that makes him angrier than anything. 

“I shall not let them take you,” he says. Sigyn holds out her hand for Theoric to take, to hold, to squeeze. It’s all they can do for each other. Sigyn begins to regret telling him anything in the first place, but she has never been a fine liar.

-

Theoric keeps his word. 

It is a week closer to Sigyn’s wedding when the commotion Theoric has been making finally makes its way to the All-Father. Theoric has been telling anyone who will listen about the unjust government forcing a poor defenseless girl into marriage with their youngest and socially disabled son. 

Sigyn is among the last to hear the rumors  -  which have escalated, as rumors tend to do. Sigyn is being held hostage; Loki is insane and violent; Loki fell in love with Sigyn and had her kidnapped. They never cease, such rumors. 

Fortunately for Sigyn and Theoric both, no one can seem to point to who started them. The origins, like those of so many truths and lies, remain unknown.

Sigyn finds her peace in reading outside of the palace most mornings. It is her time to herself - before Theoric can come and dampen her spirits with the weight of her marriage that he seems to have decided should rest on his shoulders. She hates him for it, but she doesn’t hate him at all. The weight had to move somewhere.

It is one of these mornings, sunny and bright, that Loki finds Sigyn reading on the carved marble bench. He stands before her, and it is not until Sigyn registers the change of light that she realizes anyone is there at all. She looks up, expecting to see Theoric, and finds instead Loki. He stares at her book intently, trying to figure out what she is reading. Sigyn closes it so that he will know that she is aware of his presence. His attention is quickly brought back to her person. Sigyn smiles. “My lord,” she says. 

“M’lady,” he answers automatically. His voice sounds bored, tired. 

“Can I assist you with something?”

“No, it was just-” he pauses. “There have been nasty rumors about me spreading throughout the kingdom. It is nice to be away from that.”

“Oh,” Sigyn has no idea how to properly respond. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Loki kicks at the ground as he asks it. He shows no sign of anger, not even annoyance tints his empty expression. 

“It wasn’t me,” Sigyn says. She sounds like a child to her own ears, but her sense of self-preservation is kicking her to make a move. Any move.

“Of course it wasn’t.” Loki says it as if the fact is obvious. He changes the subject. “What are you reading?”

“Just a novel. I think it used to belong to my mother.”

“What is it about?”

“Romance,” Sigyn says simply. She does not want to talk about her book anymore. At least not to her soon-to-be-husband. The answer seems to work because Loki doesn’t say anything else. He sits down beside her on the bench and breathes deeply a few times. 

“You’re very beautiful,” he says. Sigyn is wary of such words. She wonders if Frigga had told Loki to visit her; to become friendly before the wedding. 

“Thank you.” She wishes she could just go back to reading her book alone. A few moments pass before Loki stands again. 

“I should - ”

“Yes.”

“Chores and duties - ”

“Of course - ”

“I shall see you at Thor’s banquet tomorrow, I suppose.”

“Of course, my lord,” Sigyn breathes. She had completely forgotten about the banquet for Thor’s birthday. Loki nods and Sigyn stands to curtsy, but Loki is already walking away. 

Sigyn opens her book again but finds that she cannot focus on the words before her eyes. 

 

-

She cannot sleep that night. Anxiety over the banquet hovers on her mind, but there is also confusion regarding Loki. He seemed to have taken an interest in her today, and that interest isolates her. She doesn’t want to think about Loki as much as she is; he should not keep her up at night. But of course he does; she is to be married to him. 

‘ _Supporter_ ,’ a voice whispers just as another says, ‘ _servant_ .’ Sigyn squeezes her eyes shut against her own mind. Her thoughts return to Loki.

This mysterious being - sometimes cruel, sometimes kind, and always fascinating - spoke to her as if he cared. If nothing else, Sigyn thinks, she will never live a dull life by his side.

She feels guilty immediately after thinking it for fear that that is exactly the life Theoric has always been doomed to. They promised to be friends forever, to always meet under the large tree and eat apples and dance, but nothing is the same anymore. Nothing can possibly be the same. 

Because Sigyn has never been a fine liar, not even to herself. 

 

-

 

There is an entire day to spend before the banquet, and Sigyn spends it planning out what she will say to Theoric when they meet by their tree. She knows what she has to do.

Sigyn waits anxiously for him to arrive, pacing around the tree. When he does, she pounces. 

“You embarrassed me in front of the royal family.”

“What?”

“You did. You spoke to commoners of my marriage. You did not know what you were talking about. You made a fool of me, Theoric.”

“I -  Sigyn, no. I’m sorry. I was trying to stop the wedding. To end this madness!”

“Why?”

“Why? Because it is not fair! Why should Loki have your hand without even-” Theoric pauses to look away from Sigyn. “Without even knowing you at all?”

“Because my mother died and they felt sorry for me. They believe themselves to be giving me a gift; giving my family line a gift. They could be right. This could be a good thing, Theoric. It is a privilege. This could be the best thing that ever happens to me.” Theoric turns away from the words then. Sigyn continues, “You know that I have no choice, but even if I did -  I don’t know what I would do.”

Theoric freezes for a moment before walking away. Slowly, at first, then faster. Sigyn knows that she cannot bring him back. She knows she has embarrassed him. Sigyn begins the trek back to her own quarters. People will be waiting to get her prepared for the banquet; for her first public appearance with Loki. Her second meeting with the prince of Asgard. 

Sigyn’s wild, blonde hair whips around her face in the wind as she walks towards the palace gates. Determined in spite of recent events, always.

She cannot get the image of Theoric walking away from her out of her mind. It is not until she is halfway home that she realizes that the image is not Theoric, but Loki from the previous day. People keep turning their back on her, she realizes with sadness. 

As she climbs the palace stairs she thinks back to her father - leaving when she was young only to die in battle - and the death of her mother. Her mother - who lost two men in her lifetime for the safety of Asgard.  _Loyal servants;_ conflicting words juxtaposed into nobility. All of them gone.

For truly Sigyn is alone in this world now, and if she has only herself then she had better make the best of it. 

-

The handmaiden makes sounds of disapproval throughout the entire hair-brushing process. It is something Sigyn thinks she will never get used to: having strangers touch her hair, pick her outfits. She tries to relax into it, but it is not an easy task with the woman clicking her tongue every few moments. 

“However am I to get all of this up?” The older woman asks of Sigyn’s hair as if it will answer her. “I suppose I will have to use pins. I just detest using pins.”

Sigyn feels the urge to apologize before thinking the better of it. It is not her fault that her hair has always been long and unruly. Not quite curls, but not straight either. Often her hair decides to stick out at the most inconvenient angles.

Sigyn thinks that hours must have passed before her hair is pinned up in an intricate spiral. The handmaiden brings a long green gown to her, Loki’s colours. Sigyn reminds herself not to wear her emotions on her sleeve tonight. Seeing the dress is the first of a long string of challenges.

When it is time, the handmaiden pushes Sigyn out of her room. She knows her way to the banquet hall and walks there slowly. Many of the corridors are empty and Sigyn’s shoes echo in the long hallways. It’s a beautiful sound; it’s a beautiful feeling. Sigyn remembers Loki’s words: You’re very beautiful. 

When a few other women, dressed beautifully in gold and red, appear in the hallway, Sigyn speeds her pace. No need to make it look like she is anxious. Her dress feels plain in comparison to the other ladies of the court, but she is younger than any of them. Sigyn is far more comfortable in modest clothing. 

The hall is bursting with anticipatory celebration. Nothing has begun; the food hasn’t even been served yet, and yet everyone is grinning and laughing as if the party is well on its course. 

Sigyn walks past many of the tables to the very front of the room. She knows she is meant to sit beside Loki, and a chair sits open for her. People turn to look at the girl as she walks to the front of the hall, finally taking her place. Loki is slumped against the high back of his chair, looking out at the many people as they celebrate. He watches Sigyn as she approaches, but pointedly looks away when she sits. 

Sigyn’s heart sinks. Maybe everything had been an act, after all. 

And then Odin stands to speak, and Loki perks up.

Odin speaks of Thor in high praise, reciting his past heroics and some of the lessons he has learned on his own. Loki leans over to Sigyn and her heart pounds. 

“Watch this,” he says, and flicks his hand upwards in an odd gesture. There is an audible crack as Thor’s dinner plate cracks down the middle, effectively interrupting Odin’s grand speech. Odin looks over at Thor who looks just as stunned. Odin waits a moment before continuing onwards. 

Loki moves his hand again, this time another line forms its way down Thor’s plate. Odin ignores it this time, but Thor looks up at Loki knowingly. Sigyn brings her hand to cover her mouth. 

“Oh, don’t be so shocked,” Loki whispers. “It is only a game.”

“But he’s the-"

“The what? The crown prince of Asgard? You forget that he was first my brother.” Sigyn doesn’t think she’s ever seen Loki smile before, but he does now. Odin wraps up his speech and the people cheer loudly. It must echo throughout all of Asgard. Sigyn wonders if Theoric can hear. 

When it dies down, Loki turns to Sigyn. “Do you have any siblings?”

“No, my lord.”

“You are lucky, then.”

“Don’t say that,” Sigyn says, smiling. 

“Oh, but it is true. My brother- Oh, my brother is nothing but a pain to me. Fun to play tricks on, to be sure, but it is hardly worth it,” Loki laughs as if what he is saying is nothing, then watches as the food is placed on the tables.

Sigyn watches as well. She didn’t live an impoverished life, to be sure. She knew of banquets and feasts. The food shown to her now is nothing out of the ordinary. Suckling pigs and plum pudding, an overflow of mead and wines from fine vineyards. It was a feast fit for the birthday of a crown prince. 

Loki serves himself first, then passes each dish to Sigyn. When they each have enough food to feed Volstagg thrice over, Loki looks again to Sigyn. 

“Your friend, what’s his name?”

“Theoric?” Sigyn asks. 

“Theoric,” Loki says, tasting the name. “How long has he been in love with you?”

“What?”

“Surely you knew,” Loki says, feigning innocence. Shock.

“I think you are mistaken, my lord,” Sigyn says, her self-preservation kicking in again. Some part of her knows that what Loki says is true, though. Some part of her always has. 

“Perhaps, but I am not often deceived,” Loki says, raising his chin, and Sigyn can hear the false confidence. Something strikes her and she is instantly reminded that Loki is not much more than a child himself. 

“You are probably correct, my lord.”

“Stop calling me that, Sigyn. Call me by my name, at least. We are friends now, are we not?”

Sigyn smiles despite herself. “I know little very of you, Loki, and I suspect you know little of me.”

“I know you were born to a wealthy family; I know your mother is dead; I know you like to read out in the gardens and I know you spend much of your time with  _Theoric_ by the willow tree,” Loki says. 

“Those are facts, my L- Loki; that isn’t me. I know that you are prince of Asgard, that Thor is your brother, and Odin your father. I could probably recite your heritage by rote back to you, but I doubt you would call that knowing you.”

Loki smiles at her, wide and almost frightening. It does not scare Sigyn. The smile is something that she knows is not seen by many, caused by fewer still. She tries to memorize it then and there. 

“My lady, I believe your food is going cold,” Loki says, turning to his own plate as he says it. 

Sigyn turns back to her food and begins eating, all the flavors lost to her in the wake of her conversation with Loki. All new thoughts fading into thoughts of Theoric’s love. 

-

When Sigyn is supposed to be sleeping that night, she is drowning in her memories. When she should be thinking about Loki, she is thinking of Theoric. Everything is falling into place; his actions make more sense in light of what she now knows. 

She rises from her bed silently, and opens her door to a long corridor. She has lived in the palace since her mother died, as many orphan children do. Theoric has lived here since he was five years old. Sigyn knows his room better than she knows her own. She follows the halls that she knows so well until she reaches Theoric’s door. The signal knock rings through his room, as it has whenever they have wanted to speak in the past. 

A few moments pass, and Sigyn can hear the sounds of someone crossing the room. The door opens to reveal Theoric, looking as if he hasn’t slept in days. With a start, Sigyn realizes that he probably hasn’t. 

“Hi,” she says. 

“Sigyn,” Theoric replies. “How went the banquet?”

“It was nice.” Sigyn is reminded again of her inability to lie to her best friend. Theoric makes a sound as if he is in pain. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. I am very tired. You should go.”

“There is not anything I can do about the wedding, Theoric.”

“You could loathe him as I do.”

“I- I cannot.”  _Supporter. Underling._

“I know. I think it is better if we are no longer friends.”

“Theoric, don’t be absurd.”

“No, Sigyn. You have no idea-”

“What? That you are in love with me? I know. I’ve always known, I think. I’m sorry, Theoric. I really am.”

“I don’t believe you,” he says quickly, and closes the door on Sigyn, shutting her out completely. 

Silent tears streak down her face as Sigyn makes her way back to her own room. She throws herself down on her bed and allows sobs to rack through her body as she curls into herself. A time comes when she can’t even recall why she is crying. All she knows is that too much has happened in one day, and she has no idea how to react to it all. Eventually she falls into a blissful, dreamless sleep. 

When she wakes, everything is better, as it so often is. 

-

Months pass without Sigyn saying a word to Theoric. It would feel strange if Sigyn’s life hadn’t become so instantly busy. The date for the wedding has been set. Three months from now I will be a wife, Sigyn finds herself thinking. Three months from now all of this running about will be over. 

The wedding is planned by Aesir designers, dictated by history, and overseen by Frigga. Sigyn has little to do with the matter except be swept off for dress fittings and to see specialists about her hair, and of course to be educated in the ways of being a wife. 

There are some things that the teachers tell Sigyn that shock her. Surely Loki won’t ask Sigyn to give up her life for him, or stand watch as he takes her child away from her forever. Sigyn has never even heard of such practices, but it is her duty as a wife to do these things for him, and more. She focuses on her conversations with Loki.  _Stop calling me that, Sigyn._ _We are friends now, are we not?_ He seemed modern enough to ignore such rules of the past, for that is all they were and are. Outdated and so often ignored that no one had bothered to change them. 

Through all of this, Sigyn finds little time to imagine herself by the willow tree with Theoric. That is not to say that she does not desire for it, but even if she could - even if Theoric was waiting for her there - she would not have the time. 

In two weeks, Sigyn sees nothing of Loki, and only glimpses Theoric - on his way to a class or to his room to read - once. She thinks about her walk from the willow to the palace on that windy day. Sigyn has nought but herself to keep her company. She wonders if it will always be this way. 

-

There is a formal gathering - for Sigyn would not know how else to describe it - outside in the gardens that is meant to represent the official meeting of Loki and Sigyn. That is to say, the two are forced to be side by side for an entire afternoon as members of the Asgardian crown come to meet Sigyn. The light party is public, so after the people of the higher classes meet her, the common people are allowed to briefly say hello. 

It is also mandatory for all who reside in the palace. This, of course, includes Theoric. 

In the days before the event, Sigyn can’t help but find herself internally referring to it as torture. For one, meeting the people of the highest class is nerve racking to the highest degree. Second, having strangers stop just to gawk at the future-princess is nothing but cruel. Lastly, the thought of Theoric watching as Sigyn makes a show of being happy with her betrothed is the stuff of her nightmares. She figures that her last point is hers alone, and quite possibly her own fault.

Her hair is curled and pulled into an up-do, not a tight, pinned thing like at Thor’s banquet; this time it is meant to look casual, though Sigyn thinks that there is nothing ‘casual’ about the three hours it took to get it perfect. She is dressed in green again, a light dress suitable for an outdoor garden party. Sigyn wonders if Loki will wear his cape. It is a great deal too large for him, but he looks quite regal in it nevertheless. 

Sigyn is to meet up with Loki in the hall so that they may enter together. When she sees him, she is forced to take in a breath. He wears his cape and his light armor. It’s meant for show, clearly, because it doesn’t protect much, but it shines in the sun. His hair looks shorter than usual, though not by much. It still sticks out around his neck a little. Pitch but never perfect. Loki stares out at the kingdom as he leans on a marble pillar, his arms crossed across his chest. 

Sigyn walks towards him, making sure to have her shoes make just enough noise. He turns towards her quickly, his cape flowing around him. There is a terrifying moment as they both register the other, and what they are about to do; Loki breaks it by smiling wide. 

“You look lovely,” he says, voice like liquid silver. 

“As do you,” she replies, and is taken aback by the sureness of her own voice. 

“Shall we?” Loki holds out his arm for her and she takes it, feeling many years more than fifteen. They make their way towards the gardens, and for a moment Sigyn forgets that they are walking into torture; for a moment she forgets that Theoric will be waiting; for a moment she forgets that nothing perfect ever lasts forever. It is a beautiful moment, to be sure. 

-

Meeting Asgard’s most powerful people is just as terrifying as Sigyn imagined it to be, even with Loki beside her the entire time. He knows these people well, and is able to introduce each of them to Sigyn, and briefly explain what they do so that Sigyn can begin polite conversation. It takes two hours before people of the public - including Theoric - are even allowed in, and an hour after that until Sigyn and Loki are allowed to wander of their own will. 

They stay near each other for the first while. Loki points out some of the people that Sigyn had not had a chance to meet, but sounds immensely bored while doing it. It is clear that the whole affair is just as unpleasant to Loki as it is to Sigyn. Food is served, and the two make their way to the tables. Thor intercepts Sigyn halfway there, pulling her aside with a grin. 

“Are you ready to die of boredom, my lady?”

“No, of course not. This is an honor and a priv-”

“There is no need to lie to me,” he says, and Sigyn’s heart drops. “I am a friend, and I know these people. I know what it is like to speak with one of them for even a minute. Torture!” Sigyn smiles because Thor is still grinning and his is an infectious happiness. 

“Well,” she begins before being cut off yet again. 

“Do not worry, my lady. The worst of it is over. I assure you. How has my brother been to you? Be honest. If he has been deceitful at all I would-”

Loki’s voice interjects then, “You would what, brother? Tie me to my bed again and forget me there, like when we were younger? Or perhaps surprise everyone and experience a streak of creativity.”

Thor laughs then. Not for the first time, Sigyn wonders how these two are able to laugh off such insults and humiliation. 

“Oh, you shall see brother. Do anything to harm fair Sigyn and you will not like what you get,” Thor says, nodding at Sigyn, who has no idea how to react. She settles on smiling  at Thor and reaching for Loki’s hand, holding it in her own. It is the first time she has initiated any contact, but she’s trying to make a statement: Thank you, but I trust him. 

She wonders if she’s lying to the crown prince of Asgard. 

-

The meet-and-greet seems never-ending, though Thor did not lie when he said the worst had passed. The civilians seem so happy to even speak to Sigyn that she does not have to put much effort into conversation. She is speaking with a young girl - kneeling down and explaining that, Yes, the All-Father loves everyone, and, Yes, that does include your pet mouse - when she catches her first glimpse of Theoric. He seems fixed on something else, though, so Sigyn tries not to think about what she should say to him. 

Loki spots Theoric at about the same time that Sigyn does, but he is able to slip away from the people to find him. When he does, Theoric looks unsurprised. Loki grabs a hold of Theoric’s arm and pulls him around a hedge to where the people cannot see. He forces Theoric up against it and puts his metal-covered arm to Theoric’s neck. 

“Do not talk to her today,” Loki says, drawing on all the confidence and menace that he has heard his father use in the past. “In fact, do not speak to her again. Do not complicate her feelings, boy, or I will have you sent to- to- to Jotunheim! Do you understand me?”

Theoric tries to nod enthusiastically against the brace of Loki’s forearm. 

“Good,” Loki continues. “I’m glad we agree. It is what’s best for her. She deserves better than to be confused. She has no choice.”

For a moment, Theoric thinks he can hear sadness in Loki’s voice, but the moment passes as Loki pushes his arm hard into Theoric’s neck before releasing him, and stalking back to the party. Loki hopes Sigyn hasn’t noticed his absence.

-

As the world moves closer to the wedding day, Sigyn begins to notice that the number of people around her is rising. The constant chatter of woman becomes the soundtrack to her life. 'Oh, you will be such a lovely bride!' 'You are going to make the prince a very happy man, you know.' 'The palace needs someone who can paint!' Everything Sigyn does seems to be the right thing; the perfect thing; the necessary thing. It's almost nice to have the feeling that she can do no wrong, for once.

Despite the attempts of seemingly half the court to keep her away from stress and worry, no one seems to notice that Sigyn is, in fact, petrified of her wedding day. Or rather, the life she will live afterwards. That's the thing about arranged marriages, Sigyn thinks; no matter how many people tell her that this will be a good thing, the unexpectedness of the entire situation never seems to leave her.

Marrying a prince was never how she expected her life to play out.

-

Time feels as if it speeds up in the final week. Six days turns to five, five to four, four to three, three to two, and the night before the wedding is before her. It's all very hard to believe, but Sigyn comes to the realization that she doesn't have to. All she has to do is follow the guidance of the people around her. She imagines herself dancing with Theoric; letting him do all the guiding, her feet just trailing along.

She tries to focus on her breathing and her own thoughts. She will always have herself, she thinks. That is the one thing that will never change. She will keep herself busy. Determined in spite of recent events.

She falls into her bed. This is the last time that she will be alone. This is her last night in this room; last night in this bed; last time in the corridor so close to Theoric. 

Part of her waits for the familiar sound of the secret knock. She doesn't lie to herself - not that she could - she believed that Theoric would come to her tonight. He is the only other person in the nine realms who knows her well enough to know how terrified she would be. The knock never comes. Sigyn remains painfully alone on her last night of being alone.

Insomnia takes her as she knew it would. Words play over and over in her mind as she desperately wills them into silence.  _A lack of sleep will steal your beauty._ Sigyn wants to be lovely tomorrow, though she cannot figure out  _why._

Sigyn squeezes her eyes shut.  _Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sleep._ After trying for an indistinguishable amount of time, she finally resolves to embrace her mind, and sure enough the spinning thoughts whirl her into a turbulent sleep.

She dreams of Loki. Green sparks fly across her vision. A string of strange and familiar faces stream through her mind. She stands on the Bifrost and watches as Loki, Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three cross through to a distant land. Loki looks unhappy, his hair slicked back, his face older. Sigyn feels a sense of foreboding and wonders why no one else seems to feel it. She is overwhelmed with dread. 

Suddenly Sigyn is watching as Loki screams at Odin, though she cannot hear his words. He is older, still, but shattered. Sigyn screws her eyes shut. She doesn't want to see this.

Then she is in a strange land. She watches as strange creatures move overhead. A man of Iron, a giant green beast; one man holds a bow and arrows, another a shield - weapons outdated for this time. Glass buildings trap Sigyn where she stands. Loki appears again, this time looking much older. Dark circles surround his eyes and his hair has grown long. He looks so angry, she thinks. Sigyn suddenly realizes she is in the middle of a battlefield.

The last dreamscape is one of total darkness. Sigyn feels as though she is falling when she knows she is standing still. She can feel the emptiness of the void in her bones as it fills her. She opens her mouth to scream but no sound comes. It feels like an eternity later that she finally hears a voice. It calls her name. The voice of a woman.

With a start, Sigyn bolts upright. Her handmaiden looks on; her face painted with worry. Sigyn takes a few deep breaths before inexplicably bursting into tears. She is once again aware that she seems a child. She couldn't help it; she cannot help it. The tears flow and the older woman - for once - takes a soothing position. She brings a handkerchief to Sigyn and pats at her face.

"There, there dear. It will be good and done with before you know it," she says of the wedding. But it won't. Sigyn knows it won't. The wedding is the first day of a new life, but that is not why she is crying. Sigyn weeps because reality startles her after such bizarre dreams. She weeps because she is happy to be away from the lonely clutches of the dream space. Something inside of her kicks to life and feels a small thrill at the idea of not being alone again.

With a last sniffle, Sigyn rises from her bed, prepared to be fussed over for the entire day before the early evening celebration.

-

Theoric waits for a moment when Sigyn is alone. He waits for the better part of the morning before he gets his chance to speak with her; he knows he doesn't have long.

When his long-awaited moment comes, he opens the door quickly, which gives Sigyn the impression that he is bursting into her quarters. She is startled by the sudden loss of the rare, calm moment. 

"I need to talk to you," Theoric says.

"Clearly," replies Sigyn.

"He threatened me. At the garden celebration, he told me not to talk to you again."

"Who?" Sigyn asks, but she already knows the answer.

"Loki," Theoric spits. Sigyn's stomach drops and she feels the remnants of a leftover emotion from her dreams. Something unpleasant tugs at her memory, and she buries her face in her hands. Theoric realizes what he's done far too late. Shame fills him. "I'm sorry, Sigyn. I didn't mean - "

"No, it's good that you told me. I should know."

"I should not have told you mere hours before you marry him. I am truly sorry."

"It is fine," Sigyn says with a wave of her hand. "It's fine, someone will be back soon. You should go."

Theoric nods and stands. "He said he was doing it for you. He said that he didn't want you to be confused."

"And he did a fine job of it," Sigyn breathes. Theoric leaves her alone, then, to fume in her solidarity for the few moments before anyone returns to her.

-

Sigyn stares at her reflection for a moment in the full length mirror. There is some shock in seeing herself like this, but it has taken so long to become this way that she isn't all that surprised. 

Her dress is simple, straight, and long. Her hair flows around her shoulders, curled and precise. It was a shock to all when a young boy, not much older than Sigyn, came and whispered something to Mary - the oldest handmaiden who had taken it upon herself to be in charge. Mary turned and announced that the prince preferred Sigyn's hair  _down_ and may the ancestral Gods help them all.

The request gave Sigyn something to think about while she was being fussed over, and for that she is at least a little grateful. The only time Loki had seen her with her hair down had been when they had first met - while Sigyn was reading her novel outside. Such an informal meeting, and yet it was the only time they had seen each other outside of large social gatherings.

And so, after a painfully lengthy grooming process, Sigyn comes to look a proper bride, and stranger, she doesn't hate seeing herself like this. It is something of a wonder to her - though she doesn't want to stare at herself and seem vain. Mary and the others all seem proud of their achievement as well, and many whisper congratulations to Sigyn as they all look on at the almost-princess of Asgard.

-

Sigyn is lead through secret halls to the Great Hall. The space is already abundant with people. Sigyn is briefly reminded of entering the banquet hall for Thor's 18th birthday. This space is different; it is large and steepled and incredibly formal.

Sigyn is surrounded by curtains that shield her from the view of the people in the pews. She reaches for one and quickly draws it back, peeking out like a child in a theatre performance. There is no one at the front; it doesn't seem right. There should be a host of people, including Loki, ready and waiting. 

A young boy of about twelve tugs on her sleeve; Sigyn turns to look. He holds a long, almost delicate sword.  _Of course_ , she thinks. The sword that she must trade with Loki, who will give her the sword of his ancestors. A symbol that she will hold onto until her son is ready to receive it. 

_Her son._

She can almost feel Loki's presence in the room the moment he enters. Sigyn still cannot see him, but she can feel the crackle of the air, the sensation that his mere breathing seems to give. Energy, raw with mischief and laced with excitement. She wonders if she’ll ever get used to it; she wonders if she wants to.

The music begins and Mary pushes the curtains aside. All eyes fall to Sigyn and Sigyn tries to meet Loki's eyes, but he looks at his own feet.  _Something is not right._ Or maybe this is just Loki. Suddenly, Sigyn feels annoyed at him. In the flash of a moment, she decides to embrace the attention of the crowds. She smiles her happiest - and most fake - smile, and lifts her chin.

And maybe this is why she is here; maybe Odin and Frigga and  _the kingdom_ needed someone who could be good to the people. Maybe they needed someone who could make up for where their second son failed them. 

Loki looks up just before Sigyn reaches him. His green eyes almost pierce through her. Every part of her screams for her to stop in her tracks, but her mind prevails and she moves forward. He does not smile, nor does he show any fear. Sigyn might call it boredom if she didn't know, quite well, what bored Loki looked like. This is different. 

And then Sigyn is there; a good deal shorter than Loki. He reaches his hands out for hers and she lays her own in his palms. Joined.

Odin speaks for a brief time about his son; about what he knows of Sigyn; about marriage, and matches, and new beginnings. It's all very flattering and flowing. Only Sigyn can see Loki rolling his eyes, but she doesn't mind because after he does so he smiles at her. She holds herself together.

He wears the helmet he had received at his eighteenth banquet, only a few months prior. It had been a smaller affair than that of Thor's as Loki is no crown prince, but it had been splendid by any peasant's standards and had been a pleasant evening for Sigyn. Loki had told her stories and rumors of the people in attendance and joked at almost everyone else's expense. Sigyn wrote it off as silliness rather than malice because it was, after all, Loki's celebration. 

Afterwards he had not spoken to her at all. 

His outfit now shines green and silver and gold, and Sigyn realizes that Loki has only once seen her in anything but green. The mostly-white gown she wears now must look out of place to him, but he doesn't even seem to notice what she wears - instead looking into her eyes.

And the vows happen just as Sigyn knows them. Even if she hadn’t spent hours memorizing them each night for the past fortnight, she would know them. 

She holds the sword - light and gleaming - in both her hands, pointing it at Loki in a way that would be interpreted as a threat if the setting had not been a wedding. She looks up at him through her eyelashes. 

Then she turns to be handed the sword of his ancestors, a massive broadsword with two handles, fit for a king. Sigyn knows that she is to receive the finest sword in the kingdom. Had it been Thor’s wedding, the bride would have been given a scepter indicative of the one to be passed on to the first born son - and air to the kingdom. 

Loki points it at Sigyn’s chest carefully before looking up to meet her eyes. His are slanted, a smile plays on his lips that makes Sigyn want to shudder. 

And then - in unison, as is tradition - they speak the vows. 

__

_Jeg lover deg at det vil være dine øyne der jeg smiler hver morgen._

__

_Jeg lover deg min levende og min døende, hver likt i din omsorg._

__

_Jeg skal være et skjold for ryggen din, og du for meg._

__

_Jeg skal ikke baktale deg, eller du meg._

__

_Jeg skal ære deg over alle andre, og når vi krangle,  
 vi skal gjøre det i privat og fortelle ingen fremmede våre klager._

They point their swords skywards and trade them with each other before a couple of children come to take them - to hold them while the wedding progresses. Sigyn is surprised at the weight of the broadsword for the small time she holds onto it, and almost feels sorry for the boy who comes to take it from her. 

And then Loki reaches to bring Sigyn's left hand across his chest in the familiar symbol of bowing; the motion draws her closer to him. Sigyn looks up into his eyes, scared of what she might find, but he looks playful. Relaxed. Sigyn would be envious if it wasn't so calming, and then she reaches up to meet her lips to his. 

The kiss is chaste but lingering. Anything more would not be appropriate; less would not be a show. When they break, Sigyn takes effort to not look at Loki's eyes, instead awkwardly staring at his helmet.

-

The post-wedding banquet is splendid. It’s the first marriage of a member of royalty that the land has seen since the wedding of Odin and Frigga. An outsider would never know that Loki was the unpopular of the two Princes, but Loki does.

Theoric sits near the back. He smiles at Sigyn when she enters at Loki’s side.  The coolness of Loki’s arm - even through all his layers - keeps her from melting, it’s refreshing when surrounded the eyes of the world.

Sigyn recognizes everyone from the day in the gardens and various feasts, though she remembers only a few names. She smiles politely when someone comments on her beauty. The compliments slide off of her as her mind focuses on other things. Frightening things.

There are only a few hours until the wedding night, and try as she might, Sigyn cannot eat a single thing. She cannot think of anything else. She cannot so much as enjoy a moment without anxiety overcoming her. Twice, her breath hitches without her control. Twice, Loki raises an eyebrow at her, oblivious. 

She focuses on Theoric, sitting at the back; carefree and talking to the others seated around him. Laughing. How long has it been since Sigyn has openly laughed? 

How long will it be before it happens again?

-

The halls of the palace are eyrie at this time of night, especially from the front of a trail of people. Sigyn holds Loki’s hand; she had grabbed it when they turned the first corner. To her absolute surprise, he had squeezed it back reassuringly. 

She knows almost nothing of her husband, she realizes sadly. 

Six people - each holding a candle - follow Sigyn and Loki to their chambers. Sigyn had never realized how buried Loki’s quarters were. She had never had any reason to make the twisting descent to his rooms. 

The six people are to be witnesses. They are to lead Sigyn and Loki to their room and wait until Loki has removed the bridal crown - placed on Sigyn’s head by him before the banquet. Once that act is done, they leave Sigyn and Loki to validate the marriage. It will be, she realizes, the longest amount of time Sigyn has ever spent alone with Loki. 

She pictures herself waking up in the glimmering morning light free of her worries. Sigyn hopes Loki’s room has natural light.

At last, they come to the doors. At last, they are led to the large bed, black and gold. There is a surprising lack of green in the decor; Sigyn readjusts the images she had created in her mind.

Sigyn would like nothing more than to collapse on the bed. She has never felt so exhausted in her life - something she’s been thinking a lot lately, and yet this moments still tops the ever-morphing list. She glances at the black silks longingly and a suddenly finds herself passive. Obedient. Let’s get this done with, then. 

She sits on the far side of the bed, and Loki sits on the opposite side. The six people - strangers to Sigyn and distant even from Loki - stand just inside the door and stare. Sigyn desperately tries not to think about them, or imagine herself standing and screaming for them all to get out like she desperately wants to. Sigyn looks over at Loki with hesitation; he looks back with unsure eyes. It’s a look Sigyn can barely recognize in her husband.

Loki reaches his hand out to stroke Sigyn’s cheek; his touch is gentle and cool, Sigyn feels electricity run down her spine. He reaches up then for the braided crown, carefully untangling it from her curled hair. When he holds it in his hands, he looks down at it, and then places it on the table beside them. One of the witnesses steps forward to take it, but Sigyn is lost to the sight in Loki’s hands. He draws her face closer and then their lips meet.

It’s not what Sigyn expected it to be. Quick, almost messy. The polar opposite of the kiss they shared during the ceremony.

They break apart when Loki hears the door close. Sigyn looks up to affirm that they are alone. Loki smiles at her before falling back on his pillows. 

“Quite the day,” he says simply. Sigyn can only stare. Loki chuckles. “You do not agree?”

“No, of course. I cannot think of a time when I’ve been more exhausted.”

“Truly.” Loki closes his eyes. Sigyn is suddenly afraid that Loki is completely oblivious to the meaning of today; to the weight of what has happened. Sigyn lies back on her pillow as well, unsure of what else to do. They stare at the ceiling, then, each of them alone. Sigyn cannot comprehend the slight disappointment that blossoms within her.

-

Sigyn opens her eyes to the darkness. So much for the glimmer of sunlight and the feeling of relief; she feels more confused than ever before. 

There are small windows for light to enter that border the top of the room, but they only now serve to tell Sigyn that it is too early for the sun to penetrate through. Too early to be awake. Sigyn rolls to her side to find Loki propped up on one elbow watching her. “Oh, good morning.”

“To you, as well,” he replies. His eyes study her face. Sigyn feels dread well up inside her as she remembers last night and what did not happen. Is the marriage yet valid? Does Loki blame her for it? She hates herself for ever falling asleep, though she remembers that Loki was gone before she was. 

She thought she had been safe, but now he’s up before her. She doesn’t even know what time it is. 

“Last night,” she begins to apologize, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Shh,” Loki says, and brings his hand to her face. “Perhaps it is better if we do not talk about it.” Sigyn swallows and nods, moving forward to kiss him. Maybe this is the time-

But Loki stops her after only a second, putting his hand on her shoulder and pulling away before standing to dress. He dresses lightly in linens and then makes his exit, pausing only once by the door to look back at her and smile. 

Sigyn remains exactly where she is for at least an hour, not daring to rise and dress herself in the strange room until she has completely ran through everything in her mind. 

-

She sits alone outside. Sigyn had thought about going to the willow tree but thought the better of it. She also avoided the bench where she was reading when Loki had first spoken to her; instead she sits in the grass in a meadow where flowers grow wild. It feels good to be free from memory, if only for a short period of time. 

A short period of time it was, for before long, Theoric had found her. Without speaking, he sits down beside her. For a moment they only look at each other, pretending that the events of the past few days had not happened at all. Sigyn slides her hand along the ground towards him, and he takes it gratefully, squeezing tight. 

“How are you,” he asks seriously. 

“Fine, well, no-actually. Theoric, I-” she swallows her tears and looks up at the sun. She has found that staring at something bright often helps when she is on the verge of breaking. “Nothing happened like it was supposed to.”

“Sigyn,” he soothes, not understanding. 

“No. Theoric, we didn’t- nothing happened. Last night, I mean. Nothing.”

“Oh.” The relief in his voice makes Sigyn angry for a moment. “Because you-”

“No! It was not by my choice. I would not- I mean, I would. I would have,” she stammers. “It was him. Gods, I should not even be telling you this.” She withdraws her hand from his and dusts off her skirts. 

There’s a moment of silence before Sigyn continues, “You don’t think- You don’t think he didn’t want me, do you? That this is my fault?”

“Sigyn, I don’t know. Only if he is a fool, but he very well might be. You must tread carefully, you know. The people will believe their prince before the new peasant girl.” The words do not sting; they weren’t meant to. 

“Loki would not do that, would he?” But Sigyn remembers that she does not know anything about Loki. She remembers learning that he had threatened Theoric. She remembers the anger she felt at him as she walked the aisle. As it were, Theoric does not answer her. Instead, he stands, bows, and smiles the smile that has always been so familiar to Sigyn. As long as she has that smile, she can never be truly miserable. 

“You know I will be at your side whenever I can, princess,” he says through a grin. Sigyn is reminded that not everything is lost, and smiles back, not stopping until well after he is out of sight.  

-

It is the next night that Sigyn gains her answers. 

Loki guides her to his quarters as he has done the past two nights, for she has not yet learned her own way through the twisted passages. When they arrive, Loki leaves Sigyn in the bedroom as he usually does. He writes letters or sits and thinks in the drawing room. Sigyn undresses then, as she has each night before.

But tonight Loki enters the room as Sigyn is in the process of pulling her chemise over her head. She freezes, the thin fabric falling back over her body. Loki takes a few steps forward, and then around her so that he stands directly behind her. It unnerves her that she cannot see his face. 

He wraps his arms around her waist, placing his hands over her own where they still clutch the fabric. Sigyn finds herself almost shaking from the fear she feels then, but Loki leans down and whispers in her ear, “Don’t let me interrupt you.”

“I- No, of course not.” She lifts her hands up then, pulling the chemise once again over her head, his hands follow hers, trailing up her body. When the fabric is gone, Loki pulls Sigyn taught to his body. His hands encircle her waist, his nose trails along her ear. This time Sigyn cannot repress the shudder. 

Loki feels it and in a swift motion pulls her to face him; his eyes search her face. “What is the matter?”

“I don’t,” Sigyn stammers, “I don’t know.” One tear falls, one cursed, betraying tear. Sigyn turns her face away, but Loki sees it. They both know that he sees it. For a moment Loki looks away too, in what Sigyn assumes is disgust with her. “I am so sorry,” she adds. 

“No, it is my fault. I forget your age.” Suddenly Sigyn is filled with rage. She is sixteen now. She is not a child; she can handle this. Or if she cannot, it is not for lack of maturity. Right?

She grabs his face in her hands and pulls him to look at her. She reaches up on her toes to meet his lips with hers; the kiss is rough and driven by Sigyn. She bites at his lower lip and claws at his neck. Only a few seconds pass before Loki retaliates, his fingers digging into her back, his mouth spreading into a grin before he pushes her back against the wall. The hard contact shakes her for a moment, but she doesn’t forget what she’s doing. She doesn’t forget the endgame. 

Her hands move from his neck to his chest, trying to find a way past the armor and layers. Loki chuckles into her mouth at her inability to get anywhere. She bites his lip hard in response and he draws away. Suddenly Sigyn is filled with fear again. What has she done? But instead, Loki begins pulling off his layers one by one; his eyes never leave Sigyn’s. Sigyn realizes she’s still wearing her underclothes as he pulls off his own. It’s not something she wants to focus on. 

Loki comes back to pin her once again against the wall. He is about to kiss her again when Sigyn reaches her hand up to stop him. For a moment his eyes flash anger, but Sigyn’s eyes flick towards the bed. Realizing her intention, his face breaks into that frightening grin that Sigyn is getting used to. She pushes the expression of his anger out of her mind, to be stored away to think on later. 

Loki pins Sigyn under him on the bed; his mouth reaches down for hers and she meets him. Just as rough as before, but with the added heat of their hands sliding over each others skin - clawing. Sigyn’s wince is well concealed in the passion. 

And then Loki’s hand is  _there_ ; pulling away the last of her modesty; she is completely bare to him and he takes advantage of it. His fingers trace the insides of her thighs and move lower; she gasps into his mouth and he laughs again, pulling away to whisper, “Too much for you?”

But Sigyn looks right back into the green eyes of the man only two years her superior; eighteen and so sure of himself. Sigyn licks her lips slowly and glares up at him, but before she can say anything, two of his fingers have thrust inside her. Her gasp sounds like a whimper and her back arches, effectively bringing her head to rest under Loki’s shoulder; where her face is hidden. She can hear him laughing again as he pulls his fingers away and moves his hands up to her breasts. He pushes her back down so he can see her face clearly. Sigyn curses him for it, for she doesn’t enjoy watching his eyes scrutinize her body. 

He shows no signs of approval, nor distaste. Sigyn turns her head away as his hands explore her skin, but after only a moment he is turning her head to face him. “Look at me, Sigyn.”

“Yes, sorry.”

“Do not apologize to me. Never apologize here,” he says as he kisses her stomach. Sigyn continues to stare him down; his eyes look up her body as he trails kisses lower, lower...

Sigyn cries out; the sob forcing itself out of her lungs as she throws her head back, but then regains control and re-meets Loki’s eyes. Then, at last, he breaks her gaze and plunges between her legs. His tongue feels cool one moment and hot the next; his breath comes in long, drawn out sighs. It’s almost excruciating. Sigyn grabs the blankets beneath her like her life depends on it. She puts a great deal of effort into not squeezing her legs shut. Something itches in her core then, something coming. 

Loki pulls away before it hits her.

Then he’s adjusting himself at her entrance, and Sigyn fights not to be afraid. He looks down at her, a question behind his eyes. Sigyn swallows hard and nods, and suddenly there is pressure. It isn’t completely unpleasant until she feels him stop. She speaks now, he seems to be waiting for it, “I am ready,” but her voice breaks.  _Never a fine liar._ Loki searches her eyes once more and nods when he sees the conviction her voice couldn’t convey. He pushes slowly. “No, no, Loki. Do it quickly. Please.” He nods again quickly and then Sigyn feels like she is being cut with a dull knife. 

She brings her hands up to cover her mouth; her eyes screw shut against any tears. Loki stops when he is completely inside her. His hand reaches up and grabs both of her wrists, pinning her hands above her head. Sigyn turns her head to the side. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tisks. “Remember what I said, little one?” The name makes Sigyn annoyed once again. Loki is not so superior to her. She looks in his eyes with fury as he pulls back and thrusts in, setting a slow pace. 

Sigyn feels the same itch she felt before - deep inside of her. Her rage fades away as the feeling begins to consume her. She needs it to grow, to explode within her; she is almost there. Each thrust brings her closer. 

She is suddenly concerned that she is going to die; suddenly aware that if he were to stop now her life would be over. She is lost in the dark and her end is near, and as all thoughts slip from her mind she finds herself calling out for help - for safety. His name leaves her lips; she’s calling for him to save her from whatever is coming. And it’s coming. 

And suddenly it is upon her like the tide; waves crash over her and she’s drowning, drowning, but the tide recedes again and Sigyn is breathing again and Loki is pulling away and slumping to her side. Sigyn reaches up for his face to kiss him one last time; this time more gentle. Then they lie next to each other for a moment before Loki speaks, “So it was always him, then.”

Confusion washes over Sigyn. She tells herself he is lost to sense and reason. She herself is somewhere between reality and bliss, maybe Loki is just on the less rational side. Sigyn thinks about the place she went before- before it was done. The place where nothing made any sense and she was calling out for...

And then she understands with a dread that washes over her completely. It wasn’t Loki she called for when she was lost to the world; it was Theoric. Sigyn thought she needed help and she called for her best friend, and not her husband. 

And when the horror of that settles in, she pretends to be asleep, though she stays awake the entire night; fearing for what will come next. 

She didn’t mean it, Sigyn repeats to herself. She didn’t mean it. 

-

A sort of routine is formed from then on. The couple wake up, break fast together with only light conversation, and then go their separate ways - coming together in the evenings for dinner and the retirement to their room. The first night is never spoken of and as the months pass, Sigyn feels more comfortable. She forces herself to believe that Loki had forgotten as soon as he had fallen asleep that night. 

They find the patterns in each other and Sigyn comes to love his habits. Time heals the wounds of the past; they move on. They come to know each other well.

With time, Loki becomes stronger; a better warrior. He often joins his brother and father during the day for hunting outings, and is called for when there is battle. 

Sigyn finds herself fearing for his safety when he is not near. 

It is only a few years after their wedding that the first substantial battle breaks out. The Jotunn threaten Asgard’s safety with armies brought to the gate. Loki and Thor are sent to the borderlands every other day, while Sigyn waits at home, worrying, waiting. With each day comes more tales of loss; more names to add to the lists of the deceased. Heroes of Asgard. Loyal servants to the All-father. It becomes so treacherous that civilians with little-to-no fighting experience are sent out to guard; to keep watch for intruders. 

And suddenly Sigyn finds herself alone with the knowledge that both her husband and her best friend are alone out there, fighting for Asgard and their lives. Sigyn tries not to think of Theoric’s unskilled hand at fighting; she reminds herself that it was years ago that she last saw him jest and train. He must have improved since then. He must have. 

Sigyn embraces the  loyalty she feels for Asgard; the  belief she has in the two men who are out fighting for her safety - for that is all she can really do - but for the first time she feels like a  slave to the values of her home, her people.

Every day she prepares herself for the worst, so when it comes, her face betrays nothing. 

He stands before her; his golden horned helmet in his hands, his eyes fatigued and his armor bloodstained. His beautiful cape shredded and muddy. 

“I am sorry, Sigyn,” he says, and Sigyn just nods. “I am truly sorry for your loss on this day.”

Sigyn swallows back bile before she answers, “Thank you, my lord.”

And then he is pulling her into his chest. He expects her to cry, she realizes. He thinks she will wail and curse the gods and cry, but she doesn’t. She focuses instead on the discomfort of his armor against her cheek, the dig of his gauntlets into her back. 

She wonders absently whose blood stains Loki’s clothing. 

\---


	2. Interlude

They say there are seven stages of grief. Sigyn cannot herself distinguish one stage from the next, but she believes in the possibility that it might one day become better; even when it seems impossible, and it does seem impossible. Time passes, and so too do the stages - even if Sigyn is not able name them for what they are.

-

There is shock, at first. There is too much shock. Sigyn collapses with Loki’s arms around her. They hold her up as her sobs catch in her throat. Stuck. Unreleased. She does not want to believe his words - at the same time she finds that she cannot. How can he know? How can he be sure? So she draws back, looks into his eyes, and asks him to repeat it. 

“He’s dead, Sigyn. Theoric is dead.” She can only shake her head in response. 

“He was just here.”

“And then he left, and was slau- wounded by the enemy. He’s gone. I’m sorry.”

It takes days before Sigyn really understands. 

-

Understanding is no gift. The pain that comes with it is unbearable. Sigyn wakes up from nightmares screaming, only to find that reality is no better. Perhaps even worse. She lives with the guilt of rejecting him; of not being truly there for him when he needed her.

There is a funeral befitting of a warrior. The majority of the court appears. Sigyn attends with Loki at her side, but she finds herself wishing he wasn’t. She hides herself with him near. She hides her grief for fear that it is not right. Too strong. Too much. The funeral helps nothing, not now, and Sigyn suffers through it as she does everything else in her life.

The pain gnaws at her in every moment, and though Loki can tell, he never asks her about it, and she never tells him. It is her burden to bear, and hers alone. 

-

One day Loki comes back from court to find Sigyn in the midst of a sea of feathers; her face red and streaked with tears, and in her hand the remnants of a pillow casing. When she sees Loki, she collapses in sobs, burying her face in the shred of fabric; trying to atone for the mess she’s made. 

“I didn’t, I couldn’t -”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he tries to soothe. 

“Where have you been?”

“Talking to Odin, He wants-- he wants me to go back.”

“Back?” Sigyn’s voice is full of panic. 

“To the battle.”  


“No. No, gods please. Loki, please. You cannot. Do not leave me. Not again.”

“It’s for the best, Sigyn. Think about Theoric. Think about vengeance.”  


“I cannot,” she sobs. “I cannot think about that. I cannot lose anyone else!”

“Sigyn, I promise to--”

“You cannot promise me anything! Shut up! Leave me alone! I can’t look at you right now.”

Loki stands and leaves, but he can hear the choked sobs all the way from the hall.

 It had been a little over a fortnight. 

-

Sigyn is alone for a month. Loki has left, and Sigyn convinces herself that he is dead; every single day. And when no one comes to her door at night - no messenger of tragedy, nor Loki himself -  she knows he is still out there fighting. For vengeance, he had said. For Theoric. 

She feels more lonely than she ever has in her life. She feels an overwhelming, though somewhat dull ache. Different than the stabbing pain that made her believe she would die in her sleep from the grief alone. Now she understands; she will wake up every morning, and everything will be the same. Loki will be gone; Theoric will be gone; and Sigyn will be immensely alone. 

When he does return, and the war is won, Sigyn feels no solace. Vengeance does very little, she finds; or maybe she knew that it would be this way all along. It doesn’t matter anymore. 

One day she finds herself feeling tired of the way she feels. Tired of feeling so tired. A desire for it to pass, to change into something, anything, else overcomes her the same way every other emotion does of late. 

And so she goes to her husband where he reads in his study. 

He stands up when he hears her enter the room, and approaches her when he can see her tears. She has not cried openly in some time; not since Loki had returned; not since she was supposed to be grateful. But they are more than a few stray tears, he realizes as he comes closer; she has been truly suffering. 

He folds her in his arms, holding on tight and nuzzling into her soft hair. They haven’t been physically close like this for a long time. Loki worries about his wife sometimes; he cares for her sincerely. He feels true concern.

When she finishes crying, she draws away and looks up at Loki in the way that they are both accustomed to. She smiles at him, and Loki realizes that he has not seen her do that in months. 

-

Routine seems to help, and Loki assists Sigyn in finding things to do. Anything to take her mind off of the depression, even if only for a few moments. A few moments of rest for an insomniac. 

Sigyn lies beside Loki in bed and allows his hands to wander over her body in a clear attempt to console her. They become closer for awhile; Loki seems to suffer when his wife does. She believes in his love, now, more than ever before. 

She wishes with every moment, every second, every emotion, that this could have been achieved without the loss of her friend. It never occurs to her the possibility that it couldn’t have.

-

Sigyn allows love back in. She allows laughter and thoughts on mundane things such as the coming of fall. It has been more than a year since Theoric was lost. Sigyn feels grateful for Loki’s presence; for his survival when so many others passed on. 

She thinks of Theoric now; she can bear to reminisce. The memories infiltrate her mind and she finds happiness in them, but they never leave her. She feels pangs of guilt when she loses herself in the recollections while Loki is near.

Loki is happier because Sigyn is - at least for awhile. He is sad when she is. He is a part of her, now, and she loves him - she loves him! - for it. Her life is being reconstructed around her and she learns that she is able to live, to survive without Theoric by her side. 

-

She dreams of Theoric. Two years have passed and he comes to her often. He is happy. Sigyn has accepted his fate as the will of the ancestral gods. He is among them now; he is somewhere better, and Sigyn is too. 

The sadness is such that it may be embraced. It is not gone, but it is a part of her.

Days, months, years pass. Sigyn feels adult. Her experiences have made her a stronger person; she is not the naive girl she was when Theoric left. He would be proud of her.

Everything feels hopeful now, especially in contrast to the last few years - Sigyn’s memories of those are tinted with darkness and fading at the edges. The future, on the other hand, is available and bright. Theoric would be happy that Sigyn is happy. He wouldn’t have wanted her to suffer for as long as she had. 

But Loki has become increasingly distant, and something is lurking on the horizon. 

Sigyn dreams an old dream. She dreams of Loki; angry at the world and shattered. She dreams of the strangers that she hasn’t seen for years. Not since before her wedding; she only remembers because of the oddity of the dream, of the faces. When she wakes, she remembers thinking that Loki appeared so much older in the dream; now the dream shows the exact man she falls asleep next to each night. 

Something dark is fast approaching, and Sigyn fears sinking into the dark abyss again. 

The day after the dream, Sigyn is told by a seer that she is with child.


	3. Part Two

Opposites; light and dark; two sides of the same coin. There are discrepancies in every moment - every choice has a right and a wrong answer.

 _Traitor; dissenter; renegade_. It’s all so much more fun on the other side - when you choose wrong. Not trying, giving up - therein lies the true suffering; the true evil. Nightmares teach you something, while dreams only end.

But everything ends, eventually.

 -

In the beginning, Loki disappears for only a night at a time - here and there. Sigyn waits up those nights - worrying, agonizing. Those are the nights she feels the presence of her child most of all. Her son, too, misses his father. Sigyn can feel it.

She blames her pregnancy for the nightmares she experiences; Loki’s presence, or lack thereof, is to be blamed for the destruction he causes in her dreams. It’s nothing but her over-exaggerated concerns about the future - a future that is becoming increasingly unsure. Or so she tells herself; it helps her fall asleep at night.

When Loki is home, he is often distant. Sigyn realizes that she never really knew the man - the boy - before she married him, and has only scarcely come to know him in the years since. Love, yes, she feels what she can only describe as love for the man who is rarely present. She longs for him when he is absent. She loves him; just as she loves their child - their son.

It is an ancient Aesir tradition to refer to the unborn as male; a hopeful thought, a desire spoken aloud. Sigyn finds the practice superstitious. She knows she will love this child regardless of gender, regardless of anything.

Though, if a son would make Loki stay ....

She thinks of the sword she was given on her wedding day - the one reserved for her son - and she places her hand on her stomach. There is no physical proof of her pregnancy, not yet, but she knows. Her time never came, and she feels the fulness of a new life inside her. A blinding light guiding her through the uncharted tunnels of the future.

There is family; Sigyn spends time sewing with Frigga, discussing the weather and harmlessly gossiping about the people of the court. These are the times when Sigyn feels calm, relaxed, as if her life will always hold this stability.

She also speaks often with Thor, whom she feels safe and free to speak openly with. He, too, has been frustrated with Loki’s absences of late. He, too, worries about Loki’s mentality.

“My coronation is only a few months away, you know,” he says.

“Of course I know,” Sigyn grins, feeling the influence of Thor’s exuberance. “Do you not know how excited I - we - have been?”

“Gentle Sigyn, I doubt not your joy; though my brother-- he isn’t one to become excited for much of anything.”

“No, Thor. He has been--” She begins to lie. Thor can see right through her. “It is fine, Sigyn. I know him well. I fear ... I fear that he might be envious of my position.”

“He has never shown any desire for the throne. You know this.”

“I do know, but therein lies the puzzle.” Sigyn studies Thor’s face, deep in thought. She stops him before he comes to any sort of conclusion.

“I am with child, Thor.” He looks over at her then, pulled from his thoughts, his face transforming into a wide grin.

“Sigyn! Congratulations! I cannot believe it. Look at you; I should have noticed your glow!” Sigyn laughs at his joy, a joy she could never imagine her husband wearing. With that thought, her face falls. Thor picks up on it with surprising speed. “Not everyone knows yet,” he says, understanding dawning.

“I have not known for long,” Sigyn answers. “He has not been ... present.” 

“Sigyn,” he echoes his previous joy in an entirely different tone than before. Pity?

“I’m fine. I am more than fine; I am thrilled. Please do not tell him, though. I would like to be the one.”

“Of course,” Thor says, smile returning. “Congratulations, again. ‘Uncle Thor!’ It sounds good, does it not?”

“It sounds wonderful,” she answers, but her mind is on her husband.

-

There is a banquet in honor of Odin’s name day; his last as King. Loki and Sigyn sit next to Thor, who sits directly to Odin’s right. Sigyn can feel the tenseness radiating from her husband, but also feels her own anxiety. He will be with her tonight, she knows. It will be tonight that she tells him. Thor smiles at her knowingly, and comfortingly, when he can, and it helps. It helps until Thor turns to make polite conversation with his brother, which begins with asking him of the tasks he has been busying himself with over the past few months.

“It is none of your business, Thor. Not everything is of your concern.”

“I know that. I was curious; I wondered.”

“Well, don’t.”

“Your lady misses you in your absence, Loki.” Loki swivels to face Sigyn, anger on his face for barely a moment before it is replaced with neutrality.

“She understands that my ... position comes with unexpected circumstances. Someone needs to protect this kingdom.”

“Brother, are you envious about the coronation?”

“Envious!?” Loki shouts, and the court before them falls silent. Loki lowers his voice again, this time to a hissing whisper. “Thor, I have no claim to the throne, nor do I want one. We both knew that this day was coming - always. I am just,” the anger fades from his voice, “tired. I am so tired, of late. Perhaps I am sick.”

Thor seems to take that at face value; the hall of Asgard fills with chatter again - everyone seems to forget the incident that just occurred. When Sigyn dares to raise her eyes to look at Odin, she finds him eating and talking as though he had never even noticed that anything was amiss.

-

“Loki, did you enchant the All-Father tonight?”

“Ah,” he replies, a small smile on his lips. “So you noticed that.”

“Why?”

“Not to save face, if that is what you’re thinking. Though I suppose that is an added bonus. If that had been my only intention, you would not have remembered it either, nor would Thor. No, I did it for his own sake.”

“Which is?”

“He would be pained to have heard Thor and I ... discussing the coronation.” 

“You were easing his pain.”

“Indeed.”

“How long have you been able to do that?”

“Such a small thing as a memory block? Years, I would guess.”

“Have you ever--” Sigyn starts.

“Done that to you,” he finishes, “No, Sigyn. I have not.”

“Why not?” He only looks at her, looks down on her face. “Why not when I was suffering?”

“Sigyn--”

“You could have helped me and you did not ...” 

“Sigyn,” he says more firmly, grabbing hold of her shoulders. “Would you have wanted that? Would you have wanted me to answer you now and tell you that I had? That I had been inside your mind and changed things?” Sigyn, to her dismay, begins to cry.

“No,” she answers truthfully. “No.” Loki pulls her into an embrace, his arms on her back, before he draws away quickly.

“Sigyn,” he says hesitantly. “Is there something you want to tell me?” Sigyn looks up at him quickly, and then nods twice in quick succession, forcing a smile through the tears.

“I’m pregnant, Loki,” she says, and suddenly the forced smile is coming naturally. The sun through the rain. Loki’s eyes widen a bit, even though he had made it clear that he had already suspected.

“You’re ... How long?”

“Five weeks.”

“Five - Oh, Sigyn,” he smiles, and then brings her into his arms again. She thinks that she hears him whisper an apology into her hair. She thinks that everything is going to be alright. More than that; everything is going to be perfect.

-

He is exceedingly gentle with her, at first. His kisses trail down her neck, fluttering on her skin as if she might break under any true pressure. Sigyn could almost laugh at the thought; to break would mean to be whole, and Sigyn would never feel entirely whole. She craves the reminder that she is strong, however, and growls into Loki’s skin when he continues with the incessant gentleness. She scrapes her teeth down his neck, and his grip tightens on her waist. She is getting closer to taking what she wants from him.

Sigyn pulls him down with her as she falls onto the bed. His arms immediately break free from her waist to catch himself before he crushes her. “Careful,” he snarls as his lips come down on hers - less gentle this time. Sigyn smiles, her hands on his neck, and moves her hips, her legs, just a little. Loki exhales sharply, moving back, trying to find pressure, to repeat the sensation. Sigyn arches in such a way that stops Loki from making contact. He lifts himself up off of her for a moment in vengeance. “Do not,” Loki says, “do that again.”

“Stop teasing,” she replies, and now Loki is smiling. The punishment fits the crime. Sigyn knows that he could easily remove their clothing with little more than a snap of his fingers; it could be so easy, but where is the fun in that? Instead he stands; his eyes never leaving hers, as always. Loki has always put a great deal of importance on eye contact in moments of intimacy - Sigyn found it difficult at first, but she has come to love it. 

He takes off his armor - and oh-so-many layers because of the formality of the occasion they had just been at - slowly. So slowly. Sigyn watches his face carefully, watching him trying not to smile at her discomfort. Evidently, Loki has no desire to stop teasing her tonight.

When he has finished removing his many, many layers, he comes around to Sigyn’s back. His hands find her shoulder blades and she leans back into him. Loki begins to unlace her dress; the laces - golden and contrasting with the green of the gown - wrap around her body, criss-crossing below her breasts. Loki’s arms pull her closer to him as he sits down to pull the dress down her shoulders, his fingers tracing her spine. Sigyn turns her head, tilting her chin up so that Loki’s chin is in the crook of her neck. His hands come around to her breasts for only a moment, before he demolishes the tranquility and flips her so she is flat below him.

His smile is almost feral, and without shuddering, Sigyn takes in the sight of him, holding himself above her. Loki positions himself between her legs, and pauses. Sigyn makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whine; Loki raises his eyebrows in response.

“What is the matter, dear Sigyn?” 

“Loki,” she says, warning.

“What is it that you’d like? Ask for it.”

 “Loki, I want -”

“Everybody wants. Tell me what it is that you desire.”

“You. Please, Loki. I want you.” And though it may not have been exactly what he was looking for; it is enough. He pushes forward and Sigyn’s eyes flutter, finally. Loki is home. Loki is here with her.

Sigyn bores holes in the haze with her vision. She stares through it until those holes expand, parting the leftover bliss that was blinding her. She turns her head to face Loki, who is staring right back. He lies on his side, and after a moment, his hand comes to rest on Sigyn’s stomach. “My son,” he says, and Sigyn swallows and nods. His son.

-

Later, Sigyn would reflect on her memories of that night. How could she believe everything would get better when so many signs screamed at her that it would only get worse? When every pattern displayed a downward slope? It only surprised her a little when Loki started to disappear for longer amounts of time - longer than ever before. A few nights, then a week, weeks. It only became worse.

It only becomes worse.

Each time he returns, Sigyn has visibly changed with the child inside of her. He embraces her, and then retreats to his study to read, or falls into a deep and treacherous sleep. He tosses and turns in the night, but when Sigyn asks of his sleep, he always lies.

Sigyn, unlike most of Asgard, can often tell when Loki is lying. It is a learned skill, and it comes with seeing him at his most vulnerable, his most raw.

Even when they are together in the night, even when Sigyn is savoring the gasps she can draw from his lips; the feeling of shutting her eyes so tight that they almost hurt; the feeling of being lost, but not alone - during these moments they do not speak to each other. They hardly look at each other, not truly. They only hide from their fears in the presence of one another. She buries her head in his shoulder; he hides his face in the crook of her neck. It’s all an escape.

When they do talk, Loki speaks only of bloodshed and war - of freedom and its flaws. He speaks convincingly, and Sigyn finds herself agreeing with his theory, if not with the practice of it. Loki speaks of violence in other realms as if he savors it; he speaks of the Jotunn with such hatred in his voice - he rarely spares a breath on anything pleasant. Not anymore.

Sigyn finds herself drawing away from her husband when he is home so that she doesn’t have to listen to tales of battle of blood; so her son doesn’t have to hear his father speak in such a way. In all sincerity, Sigyn has come to fear the way Loki speaks, and that fear scares her more than anything.

-

One night, they take a walk. Asgard is colder around this time of year; there is a breeze that whispers through the trees. Sigyn wears a long, green cape over her dress, which is a new gift from Frigga. Sigyn feels as though she needs new clothes every day; her child is growing quickly. Her son.

Loki had taken her arm in his, just as he had on the day of the garden banquet, but unlike that day, the air is chilled and the sky is dark. The mood is entirely different.

Loki helps Sigyn down the steps of the palace; his one hand engulfs her own, his other reaches for her waist. Sigyn smiles at his concern for her; she does not yet need as much assistance as he supplies her with, but she never mentions it. It’s not often that he is with her, these days, and she would not dare ruin one of their few moments alone - together.

In her free time, Sigyn wonders about Loki’s intentions with her and his son. He isn’t with them as often as he could be, surely, but he is so caring, so doting, when he is here. She does not think about it now, only cherishing his love. Clinging to the sparse moments she has as if they are her air, her food, her water. They are indeed her contentment.

But as they walk, Loki’s eyes become dark. It is - at this point - something Sigyn is not unaccustomed to seeing. Sometimes her husband falls completely into his thoughts, and Sigyn knows that they are rarely pleasant. It must not be very nice to be in his head, she thinks, and focuses on trying to bring him back to the present.

“What would you like to name him?” Sigyn asks, knowing that Loki understands. Names for female children are traditionally variations on the planned masculin name.  
“I have not thought about it,” he says, still lost to her.  
“I have one,” Sigyn says, fishing for his attention. To her pleasure, he seems to break from his reverie, and looks at her. “Narvi,” she finishes simply. 

“Narvi,” he repeats, tasting it as he once did Theoric’s name, so long ago. It is one of those quirks that Sigyn knows so well. “I like it,” he concludes. 

“Victorious Narvi. Handsome Narvi.”

“King Narvi,” Loki says, and Sigyn’s attention is jolted. Their son would never be King, was never expected to be King. He would be the nephew of the King, and the cousin to the King, but never the King.

“Loki,” Sigyn warns.

“It has a nice sound to it.”

“Loki, you forget -”

“I do not forget anything,” he snaps. “I never forget anything. Not my place, not my son’s place, not my brother’s place, and not the place of my wife.” Sigyn just stares at him, feeling the familiar tingle of fear creep up her spine.

“It’s okay, Loki. It’s okay, Love,” she soothes.

“It is not. It is not okay, and it will not be until it is fixed; not until it all falls - but, oh, how it will fall, and you will reign Queen, my love. As you were born to.”

-

Sigyn wishes she could say that this new Loki is not the same man she married, but candidly, she cannot. She knows that she knew very little of him when they were married; she knows that he piqued her curiosity entirely, and consumed her in his mystery. She knows that Theoric did not trust him.

Even in the final days, when he seemed to be fine - to be happy - Sigyn knew that Theoric was wary of the young prince. He had taken back his words in an effort to comfort her; his entire life he had done things just to comfort her. Theoric was her best friend, but he underestimated her strength. Loki, in contrast, never cared about how she would handle something, not really. He moved and asked questions later.

Yes, Sigyn knows things about Loki that no one else knows, but that does not mean she knows him; she doubts that anyone really does. Sigyn knew Theoric, and he knew her - the one real person in the whole world who knew her - but he is gone, and she had accepted that, and what that meant. Now, she is all alone.

Because knowing things about someone is not the same as knowing someone.

-

Sif leans against the wall outside of the training arena when she calls Sigyn over. Sigyn had been taking daily walks around the palace in an attempt to remain active when she would like nothing more than to stay in bed all day, and so is passing by - looking out the windows and trying to spot a willow tree - when she is interrupted. She swivels, searching the halls for the voice calling her name, and finds Sif.

Sif’s hair is down in long braids, and she’s wearing her tunic and training leathers - she has just come from the arena, Sigyn realizes.

Just as Sigyn reaches her, Thor comes out from the adjoining hallway. He, too, has just come from his daily training. His face lights up when he sees Sigyn, whose hair hangs down around her face. Her garb is too loose on her, she thinks self-consciously; it is meant for when she has grown larger.

“Sister!” Thor exclaims, reaching to pat her gently on the shoulder. “How goes the pregnancy?” Because in Thor’s world, nothing is private information and everything is joyous exclamations.

“Well, Thor. Thank you.”

“How is Loki?” Sigyn is surprised that the usual question comes from the unusual conversationalist of the three: Sif, who has never cared much for her husband, and has never pretended otherwise.

“He is also well,” Sigyn says slowly, and Sif looks on at her with sympathy. “He is very focused on his work,” she adds. 

“And what work might that be?” Sif presses. Sigyn remembers the conversation from their late-night walk together. _Not until it all falls._

“In all truthfulness he speaks little of his thoughts,” Sigyn admits, and it is not untrue.

“Do not worry, fair Sigyn, for it has always been thus with Loki,” Thor interjects.

“He approached me yesterday,” Sif says, bringing the attention back to herself. “He ... belittled my aspirations.”

“What?” Thor asks, uncomprehending, disbelieving.

“He told me that I play at being a man, among other things. I almost hit him; I am still in awe at my own restraint.” She smiles then, trying to lighten the dark tone that the conversation had taken. “I never did like him as much as you, Thor, but I didn’t think-- well, I was surprised for some reason unbeknownst to me, truly.”

“Undoubtedly,” Thor says, just as Sigyn nods her accordance with the shock. She feels almost guilty for the behavior of her husband. She wants to stand up for him, to announce that he would never do anything like that, but she cannot. Instead she looks at her feet.

Never been a talented liar. Unlike the man she married.

“Sigyn,” Sif says, realizing the other woman's distraught, “I’m sorry. I should not have told you.”

“No!” Sigyn’s voice is backed by years of regret. Years of pain. “Do not say that! Anything but that! I have lived in ... in denial for years. I love him,” she pauses to look Thor in the eyes, “I love him, but I know he is not ... he is not always ...”

“Admirable,” Thor finishes for her.

“Not always,” she concedes. “But does that mean it is wrong to love him?” 

“I do not believe so, sweet Sigyn. Loki is different, and he often makes the wrong choice. He speaks without thinking, and often without meaning what he is saying.” Sigyn nods. That’s it. He overreacts. He doesn’t think twice about his actions. That’s it. That’s all.

But doubt has a way of hanging around like a chill. 

-

The kingdom is full of anxious joy as the final preparations are made for Thor’s coronation. At last, the symbol of Asgard - the golden prince - will be crowned. At last, the kingdom will watch in awe as Thor takes the throne for the very first time. Very few could utter a bad word about Odin, but change is always welcome, and from Odin to his son, the magnificent Thor; well, nothing could possibly be wrong with that.

The happiness of the kingdom flows through Sigyn as if it is an illness; it flows through her blood, and with each breath she releases it, only to drag it back in on the inhale. Her son has grown; she will meet him in less than a month, the mages tell her. She will hold him and know him and he will be her world.

Sigyn returns to her room - with her child filling her thoughts - to find Loki gathering his armor, his helmet, his cape. She only needs to look at him to indicate her question, her almost-accusation.

“I have to go away for a while,” he answers.

“The coronation is--”

“In less than a fortnight’s time. I know.”

“So you will have returned by then?” Sigyn asks hopefully. Loki closes the space between them in two strides.

“Sigyn,” he says, his voice cold and warning. He takes her chin in his hand, tilting her head up to look at him. “You are not to tell anyone that I have left. Do you understand me?”

“They will know if you are not present at the coronation,” she says quietly.

“I will be back in time. Until then, promise. Swear it.”

“I will not tell anyone that you have left,” she repeats, feeling like a child, and hating him for making her feel this way.

“Good,” he says, and crushes her lips with his. She responds to him with the energy that she always does, always has, and pushes the thoughts of his departure out of her mind.

-

When he is gone, Sigyn’s dreams become vast and empty. She is falling forever; time slows down or speeds up and it doesn’t even matter. The eternity is an eternity, and no other word could properly define it.

 _But everything ends_ , a voice says, harsh and graveled. _Even an eternity?_ she asks as she falls, but then she hits ground; her hand comes forward to stop her from collapsing. When she looks up, Sigyn can see monsters. They approach her slowly - they study her; their heads tilting from side to side in silent scrutiny. Sigyn rises and tries to look away, tries to break free from their gaze, but she only looks into the eyes of more of them. They surround her.

 This is new. This hasn’t happened before.

The eyes of the creatures before her are a vibrant green - no, blue - shifting constantly. One minute the eyes are familiar and the next they are strange and icy. Sigyn realizes suddenly that she cannot escape them, the beasts have her locked in their sights, and she can not run. She can never run.

They all move closer, closing in, closer, closer.

Until a familiar voice calls them back.

 “Loki!” Sigyn screams. “Loki, I’m here!”

Loki’s eyes match the green-then-blue hue of the monsters. “Oh,” he says, losing interest in as his eyes fall over her. “It’s you.” He turns and walks away, then, leaving Sigyn with the monsters. Leaving her alone. Again.

-

Sigyn goes into labour while Loki is away; it is earlier than anyone thought. Thor hears her cries of pain and calls Sif, who assists Sigyn in moving to the room where the midwives work; the place where she will have her child. The hallways on the way blur together as each contraction creates in Sigyn a pain unparalleled, and for a moment she thinks she is living her nightmares.

When she arrives, she is guided gently to a bed. Sif leaves her in the hands of the finest midwives in Asgard; skilled and knowledgeable in what they do. The women tell her to breathe, they tell her to push. Sigyn realizes that without Sif, she is alone. She wishes with everything she has that he was here with her.

Theoric. She wishes Theoric was with her; she wishes Theoric could meet her child. Sigyn wishes Theoric was telling her to be strong through the pain, for she is forgetting how - she forgets how to be strong for anything.

Once, she hallucinates. Once, she hears Loki’s voice, frantic, in the hallway. She feels momentary guilt for losing herself in her want for Theoric, but then she hears Theoric outside, too. They are looking for her, she realizes. They have come to help her.

“In here!” She calls. “I’m here!” And a past nightmare pulls at her memory.

And then a midwife is talking to her, telling her to push, over and over - push. Her hallucination shatters and falls to the ground. Loki is not here; Theoric is not here. For a moment Sigyn thinks, ‘They’re dead. They’re gone’

But she realizes that Loki is not gone, not forever lost. He is out there. Away from her - so far away from her when she needs him so desperately. 

Then, suddenly, the pain is over, and Sigyn closes her eyes in relief. Her senses come back; she can smell the burning incense in the room; she can see the ceiling; she can hear - nothing. Sigyn’s eyes grow wide. He should be crying, why isn’t her child crying?

But the piercing wail breaks the silence, and the midwife approaches with the child wrapped in cloth, and hands him to Sigyn. “Congratulations on your son,” she says, and Sigyn feels something fill her that is so wonderful, so beautiful, that she begins to cry. She hasn’t cried in months - not since before she even knew of the child - but she cries now; for so joyous does she feel that she could not hold it in.

-

Thor is there the moment he hears; he waits outside until both the mother and child are safe, healthy, and ready for visitors. As soon as he is allowed in, he approaches her. Sigyn holds her child in her arms, her face is streaked with tears, and when she looks up to Thor, she smiles through them. “Thor,” she says. “Meet Narvi, your nephew.”

“Narvi,” Thor repeats, and stares down at the child. His hair has the blackness of his father's, but his small nose comes from his mother. His lips are pink, and when he opens his eyes, they are a bright and vibrant green. “He looks like his father,” Thor says, and for any Aesir it is the epitome of compliments. The words both credit Sigyn’s fidelity, and recognize the strength of the royal blood in the child. Sigyn grins down at little Narvi, still smiling, and wishes with her entire heart that Loki was here to meet his beautiful son.

Thor seems to read her mind. “We have done all we can to reach him,” he begins, “but not a soul can find him. Heimdall has been searching without pause since we told him, but he has little hope that Loki will be found before he wants to be found.”

“That sounds like my husband,” Sigyn says, still staring down into the face of her son.

“Rest assured, we will find Loki lest he not return. He will be dragged back, if need be.” Thor speaks with such assurance, but Sigyn cannot imagine anyone getting Loki to do anything against his will. She has faith that he will return to her, though, and so does not concern herself with doubt. Not now.

-

Three days before the coronation, and the court is in a frenzy of preparations. There are people walking Thor through every step of it; where he will enter, where he will stand, kneel, rise, and so forth. Thor becomes understandably touchy, and so when he is free, he comes to Sigyn and Narvi to relax.

Sigyn watches Thor hold his nephew, watches him look into the child’s eyes and find happiness. She watches Narvi react to his uncle with small sounds of contentment. She loves to see the two of them together, but it makes her long for her husband. “Any news?” she asks without any real energy. She knows that if they had heard something of Loki they would have come to her first.

“Sadly, no,” Thor says, and his voice is weighted with so much grief. For his own brother to miss the most important day of his life; it pains him so deeply. Thor rocks the child gently before handing him back to Sigyn. “I should go back before they come looking for me,” he says. Sigyn nods. “So long Sigyn, and dearest Narvi.”

“Goodbye Thor,” Sigyn replies, before setting Narvi down in his bed. She loses herself in Narvi’s eyes as the pattern of his blinking grows slower and slower. He falls asleep as she looks on, and Sigyn feels happy.

Something smashes; everything smashes. Sigyn briefly fears Ragnarök is upon them, but she spins toward the sound and sees ... “Loki?”

He is on one knee, curled into himself; his hands hold his ribs, and his expression betrays true agony. “Sig--” he begins, “Sig-- I need,” and he pulls his hands away from his body to reveal that they are covered in blood, fresh blood, his blood.

Sigyn stares for a moment before her senses return to her. “Remain here,” she says, as if he could go anywhere, and she darts from the room, calling out for help as she goes.

It takes minutes before she can find a mage - too long, she fears, and imagines Loki bleeding out in front of their son without ever having met him. No, she thinks. No. 

She leads the man back to her room, and finds Loki slumped against the wall. He is still breathing. The mage looks to Sigyn, “I’m going to need you to leave.” Sigyn shakes her head in refusal. “Please, this takes concentration. You must leave the room.”

His tone is dark and fearful; for this, Sigyn gives in. This man has Loki’s life in his hands, and the fear of the wrath of Thor - of the new King - if he fails. Sigyn picks up Narvi from his crib and leaves, but waits just outside the door. To her absolute horror, Loki begins to scream.

-

Sigyn is able to visit Loki as he sleeps. He sleeps deeply; his ribs are wrapped, and Sigyn traces her fingers along them. The mage was able to stop the bleeding, to close the wound, but Loki was broken, and it would take a while before he would be healed completely.

“What happened to you?” Sigyn whispers. “Who did this?” But she never gets an answer, for Loki is gone from this world, wandering the depths of his dreams.

Thor visits, as do Frigga and Odin. Sigyn often brings Narvi with her to the medical hall where Loki sleeps, though not every time. She always wishes that his presence will bring Loki forth from wherever he is; surely he wants to meet his son. But Loki never wakes.

Sigyn holds his hand, and once, in her exhaustion, she thinks she sees it become blue. It is then that she retires to her own room, to her son, to her own sleep. Exhausted to the point of hallucination, she reflects, means it is definitely time for her own sleep.

The dreams that Sigyn has while Loki is lost from consciousness are turbulent nightmares of blood and war, and when she wakes she becomes consumed with the fear that Loki is trapped in his own nightmares. There is not a soul on Asgard who deserves that fate. She wishes and prays for him to wake up.

-

“He spoke today,” Thor is explaining to Sigyn. “We have postponed the coronation.” 

“Oh, Thor, I’m sorry.”

“Hush, I chose to. I want him to be there, or to be able to choose to be there.”

“We are grateful for your consideration.” Sigyn has taken to referring to both of them together when she speaks. Words like ‘we’ and ‘us’ are becoming common on her tongue.

Thor only nods, and then, “Would you like to join me?” Sigyn nods, placing the last of her maternity gowns on the pile in her room. Thor had found her doing chores. She hooks her arm in his and they go together to where Loki is. Sigyn thinks she could make it there with her eyes closed.

She is always momentarily surprised to see how healthy Loki looks, apart from the bandages; he looks to be merely asleep, as if at any moment someone could rouse him from it all. And true to Thor’s word, he is murmuring something. Sigyn sits in the chair beside him, leaning into him to better hear his words.

“It was necessary,” he hisses. “Necessary for everyone. Everyone-- they didn’t-- and he was-- she loved-- and it was for her. I gave her-- I gave her freedom-- the lie. I am. The lie. I’m sorry. Theoric. I loved--” Everything he says comes out in a whisper, a terrified hiss, but the name causes Sigyn’s blood to freeze; her eyes close. He dreams of Theoric? “It was not supposed to be like this,” he says, then. “No one. Was supposed. To die.” There is a long pause before Loki repeats, “It was-- It was necessary.”

So Loki grieved for Theoric, too, Sigyn thinks. Theoric’s death had stained him as if he were there when it happened. As if he saw the winter beast steal the life of her friend. Something about that was bittersweet; Loki grieved for her, but also for Theoric himself.

Something - just the smallest unknown - shouts at her from the back of her mind, but it is so small that she ignores it, or misses it completely. The fact that Loki is speaking; he must be close now to waking, and she concerns herself with that more than anything else.

Safe within her refusal to see.

 -

Sigyn’s eyes fly open when she feels his fingers in her hair. Her head - which was rested on her arms on the edge of the unfamiliar bed - jerks up quickly to find Loki’s green eyes staring at her. He smiles, and Sigyn shatters. 

“Loki!” She almost sounds like a child.

“Hello Sigyn,” he says, his voice hoarse with disuse.

“Oh! Here.” She pours him water from the table beside the bed and hands it to him. He takes it from her; his eyes show gratitude. Loki sips the water and then coughs; a quick, harsh bark.

“What happened?” He asks.

“You-- I don’t know. I thought you would be able to tell us. Your ribs were broken; you were bleeding.”

“Oh. Yes, I remember. There was an ... incident with some hostile individuals. It has been resolved.” Sigyn studies Loki’s face, looking for more than that, looking for answers. A moment passes before Sigyn realizes that he is studying her just as closely. “You were asleep. How long have I been out?”

“Days,” Sigyn says, and Loki tries to hide his shock. “You were away for months before you even returned,” she adds.

“Months,” he repeats.

“Months. And there’s someone you need to meet.” Loki just nods, his eyes wide as he takes the information in. He does not register what Sigyn could be referring to; he does not comprehend.

Sigyn leaves, and when she returns, she carries Narvi in her arms. 

“Narvi, this is your father. Loki, this is Narvi, your son.”

“Oh,” he breathes. “Oh.” Sigyn places Narvi gently in Loki’s arms. They look as Sigyn looked after she gave birth; Loki looks down on the child with an unreadable expression. “He’s extraordinary. Sigyn, our son is astounding.”

“I know,” she replies.

“He will make for a remarkable ruler.”

“Loki,” Sigyn says, exasperated. Not again.

“Men and Gods alike will bow before him.”

“Stop.”

“No, Sigyn. Our son is the first born grandson of Odin. He is the son of the wiser prince, we both know this. Thor is not ready.”

“He was to be crowned days ago.”

“They’ve halted the coronation?” Loki finally looks away from Narvi to stare, incredulous, at Sigyn.

“Until you woke up, yes. They wanted you to be there.” Loki scoffs at that.  

 “Of course they did. Thor and his blasted sentimentality."

“They did it for you.”

“They never asked me! I do not care for their futile assembly.”

“Do not yell, Loki. You will frighten Narvi.”

“Narvi lives in a frightening world; it would be best for him to get accustomed to it.”

“Loki!”

“Fine. We will not talk about it again,” Loki says, and shifts Narvi in his arms, his face softens. “He truly is incredible.”

“He is.”

“And I am truly sorry.” Sigyn is about to ask of what he is referring to, but at the last moment realizes that she knows. She has always known. And she’s not sure if she can accept the apology and forgive him.

-

Loki spends three days at home; he spends the time doting on his son, caring for his wife, and watching with abhorrence as the last preparations for Thor’s coronation are made.

And then he leaves. Sigyn feels miserable when she realizes, but she does not feel surprised. She is beyond feeling surprised when Loki leaves. She is sad for her son; she wonders if he will ever truly know his father, or if he is cursed to the same fate that Sigyn is.

But to everyone’s surprise - and even Sigyn could admit to not believing when she heard it - Loki returns the day before the coronation. He looks tired, and when he returns to his room, he stands over Narvi, looking down on him.

“Where did you go?” Sigyn asks from the bed.

“I had someone important to talk to.” Sigyn has learned not to ask.

“Your son missed you.”

“And I him. I also missed my wife.”

“And she you,” Sigyn replies quickly. “You look exhausted, come to bed.” Loki nods and moves towards the bed. “Tomorrow is a big day.”

“It is,” Loki agrees. His voice so full of meaning that Sigyn replays the conversation in her head. It isn’t like him. Her intuition is warning her that something is different, not right. Sigyn stops herself before she can feel anything even close to resembling hope.

-

“Sigyn,” she hears, somewhere distant. “Sigyn. Wake up.”

“Hmm?”

“Thor’s coronation.”

“Oh. Yes.” Sigyn opens her eyelids and finds herself staring into Loki’s frighteningly close green eyes. “Hello.”

“Hello, love.” Sigyn wants to raise an eyebrow. Something is off here, she thinks again.

A few moments later, Sigyn and Loki are both up and dressing. After slipping on her chemise, Sigyn approaches Loki. “Here,” she says, assisting him in fastening his cape.

“Thank you.”

“Are you wearing your helm?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” she says. She had grown fond of the silly thing. He smiles at her, his eyes lighting up. She can’t help but ask, “Are you alright?”

“Of course. What reason would I have to be otherwise? My brother is to be crowned King. We have waited for this day since we were children.” 

“But--”

“I am to be there early,” he says, stepping away from her. “There is still so much to do.” He makes his way towards the door, picking up the great, horned helmet as he goes.

“Yes, of course. I have to get Narvi ready, still. I will see you there.” Loki nods at that, and then tilts his head - indicating his respect for Sigyn - before leaving.

He seemed almost happy, almost excited. This was not right. This man is not Loki, Sigyn concludes. Ever since he had returned the night before, he has not been Loki. The Loki that Sigyn knows is someone she does not know; the man who’s cruelty makes itself known in unexpected moments, the man who insults others at his will - that is not this man. Sigyn should feel happy for this - now Loki is polite, quiet, he almost cares - but she can not. She misses the other man; she does not want to, but she does. That is the Loki she recognizes. 

That is the father of her son.

Instead of preparing Narvi or herself for the coronation, Sigyn falls back onto her bed. Her hair splays out beneath her. Her dreams are beginning to haunt her during the days, and she loathes that. Sigyn wants to be free from the control of such nightmares - the images of violence - for they stop her from falling asleep at night, in fear that she will fall back into them and never return.

Last night she was with Theoric, running from an almost metallic beast, something like a snake. It was monstrous and quickly catching up with her. She hid in the closet in the study, but Narvi began to cry, and Theoric was dragging them both out into the open, and the beast was approaching. Sigyn had woken with her nails digging into her palms.

Something horrible is coming, she thinks. Everything that has happened. Everything that has been going on. It all leads to something.

And it all comes back to Theoric. 

-

Sigyn is dressing herself as she thinks of every instant that her reality has been halted, and every time Theoric has been behind it. In every dream with him, of late, something distressing is happening. Something that leaves Sigyn alone and vulnerable.

In Sif’s words of apology: _I should not have told you_ , after sharing with Sigyn and Thor her stories of Loki’s true self. Sigyn remembers the feeling of shock at her husband's actions; she remembers the familiarity of it. Theoric had told her of Loki’s threats to him and then hastily apologized as well. _I do not know Loki at all_ , she had thought. And how many times has Sigyn found herself thinking that since?

What else is Loki capable of that she does not know about? That she can not fathom? 

And when Loki was sleeping, he spoke of Theoric too - as if the boy had been haunting him as well. Sigyn knows why she is tormented by thoughts of Theoric; the guilt of not being there for him, of not saying goodbye. He was her friend - her best friend. So why was Loki unconsciously dwelling on his death?

Theoric - the real Theoric, as opposed to the dream one - would have wanted her to stay strong through the uncertainty. He never liked Loki, Sigyn doubted he ever would; if only because Sigyn had married him, had loved him. But Theoric would always be that smiling boy at the willow tree; the boy laughing at the back of the banquet hall. He would have teased Sigyn for taking everything so seriously, for dwelling when she has everything she could ever ask for.

And it was true - no matter what doubts Sigyn has, what she suspects is hiding under the surface of it all - she has everything. She has food and drink, shelter, her beautiful son, and a caring family.

So she pushes the ugly accusations down. The words that had floated to the surface of her thoughts: _murderer, guilty, violent, dangerous_ \- she pushes them away, and this time she doesn’t save them to think on another time. No. This time Sigyn pushes them far away, burying them in the ice of Jotunheim, for that is as distant a reality as she can imagine.

She tightens the laces of her dress until she finds it difficult to breath, and then goes to Narvi’s cradle - a gift from Frigga - and picks her son up, nestling him to her breast. Another woman would have thought of fleeing.

Sigyn dresses Narvi in his finest tunic; such a tiny garment for the most formal of occasions. She looks at her son and can see his father in him, but Sigyn is able to see the beauty in that. She loves her husband, after all. She loves the moments when he cares; she loves his humor when it is not cruel; she loves what he has given her. She loved what he has taken away from her. No. Buried. Gone. Another woman would have thought of telling someone of her suspicions.

Before she leaves, Sigyn looks in the long mirror. The woman who looks back is almost unrecognizable. The child in her arms, however, is everything that Sigyn knows in the world; every truth she has ever clung to, every fealty that she has ever sworn. They both look stunning, she thinks, fit for the sister and nephew of the King. Sigyn does not think of Loki's words.

_Traitor, dissenter, renegade._

Another woman would have stopped caring for him entirely. Another woman would have thought about revenge.

It’s all so much more fun on the other side - when you choose wrong. Not trying, giving up - therein lies the true suffering; the true evil. Nightmares teach you something, while dreams only end.

Sigyn leaves the room then, making her way to the grand hall where she will see her brother-in-law crowned. Where she will experience joy. Where she will ignore the warnings for the last time, before shutting them off entirely.

Because adherence had always been Sigyn’s covert curse. 

 _Loyal; believer; supporter._ Hardly  _servant; underling; slave._

And never _traitor; dissenter; renegade._

 

And Sigyn would die before she let infidelity claim her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from the Metric song, [The Twist.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_SHD0Re0w4U) All of the other lyrics really have nothing to do with this story; it just sounded fitting. 
> 
> Thanks go out to the Songza playlist called "Cram Session Pop/Rock" because I listened to it while I wrote. It has a few good songs in it.
> 
> Thanks, thanks and more thanks to those who commented. And extra thanks on top for those yet to. Go ahead, go for it - I want to hear from you!


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